Breathe
by Withered White Rose
Summary: Because sometimes all she can manage is one breath at a time.
1. Chapter 1

She hated when she heard all the stories the civilians told. They made everything sound so _heroic_, so poetic. A kind of beautiful that made her sick.

"And then Superman swooped in, it was so cool, and he beat up the bad guys and saved the day!"

_Don't gag, don't gag, don't lose your lunch he's just a kid. He doesn't know any better. _ Because when she heard all those stories, told in giddy voices by bright eyed people, all she could think was the hall of memoires, the cloying smell of blood and rot, the screams, and the pain. Swallowing hard she slipped out the back door of the restaurant, sliding down the alley wall she settled her head between her knees trying to still her breathing. Trying to dislodge the shouts, the ringing of bullets and orders from her mind.

_Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. _She squeezed her eyes shut trying to focus on the breath of the city. The rumble of the cars on the broken streets, the shouts of people from windows and sidewalks, the hum of machinery, the hiss of steam from vents, the running of water in the gutters. Slowly she opened her eyes, letting them refocus on the dirty ground, recognizing the khaki of clothing. Khaki not green. Blinking the afterimages of injury from her eyes she let her head raise.

"You're ok Artemis." With an effort that felt more herculean than it should have she stood. Steadying herself against the wall for another second she took a deep, full breath. "You're ok."

"No little girl, you're not. Now hand over your valuables before I have to use this." the feel of cold steel against her throat sent Artemis into a state of blank survival. It only took 30 seconds.

She didn't kill him. It was a miracle she didn't, a miracle she had reached for her own knives instead of his neck (because daddy dearest required perfection in everything), a miracle he hadn't scared her enough after her panic attack to warrant the response that was second nature to her(" If they get behind you, kill them."). When the police come, crooked cops as bent as the day is long, all she does is mouth the name her daddy gave to her so long ago, 'the tigress' and suddenly there are no more questions. The money she palms them seals their lips. Blood money, literally as her fingers have left scarlet trails on the bills. There would be no more inquiries.

She goes back to work the next day. She spends more time in the hall of memories as she's named it. The walls are splattered with phantom splashes of crimson, flames lick up the sides of her mind, she can smell charred flesh and feel the dead weight of injured civilians on her back. Sometimes in the middle of the night she hears the echoes of sobs from one half of the hall, retching from the other.

"yeah, saving the day. So cool" Artemis muttered, glancing at the bloody razor in the showers. She turned intent on seeking out M'gann to see if she was ok.


	2. Chapter 2

She had slept with her hair back for most of her life, nights like this made her glad for the morbid habit (she'd never say it but secretly she hoped he lengths of blond silk would strangle her in her sleep). She leaned over the edge of the bed, retching, the splattering sound told her the nightmare had been a bad one. She didn't need to remember, she didn't' want to remember. Shakily Artemis forced her body up using her forearms, coughing as she tried to stabilize herself on arms like noodles. The gasping dragging breaths she took burned her throat.

"Fuck" Artemis sighed. There went sleeping for the night, again. What night was this? She didn't remember. With wobbly legs she made her way to her bathroom to brush the vomit flavor from her teeth. On her way she pressed the silver button that flooded her room, washing away the remnants of her nightmare (How fucked up does that make us that something like that is in our rooms, all our rooms. Something to make the visions of violence vanish in the rooms of children). She brushed furiously, gagging and coughing as she tried to scour her throat, by the time she was done her room smelled like lemon and hospitals instead of fear and omit. There was no getting back to sleep now, she didn't want to return to nightmares.

Quietly Artemis made her way to the hall of memories, to curl silently in a corner. Eyes half glazed she waited for dawn to come, not that she could tell. She knew dawn because Robin would start sobbing and she would rouse herself from her half-sleep and sooth him. She really needed someone to remind her why she did this (no sleep, no peace, the only thing she had to put against the demons were the bodies she'd brought home to their families, her favorites were the bodies she didn't need to bury).


	3. Chapter 3

"If I last long enough to have a protégé, they will be called Atlas." It was a murmur into the un-answering darkness. "They need to know that the weight of the world will be on their shoulders and they can't run, they can't shrug it off, it will hang over them, crushing them, until it is necessary for a new Atlas to take over." She sat in the dark of the hall of memories. There was only the sound of crashing water on stone to keep her company. Chips of stone dug into her hips and bare feet. Her chin rested on her knees as she stared sightlessly at the wall (one day a memorial to her would stand there). She wondered why her mother had chosen to name her Artemis (was it supposed to be a reminder that sometimes being alone is best or was it a prayer that she would be able to devise retribution?), she pondered who her Apollo was (because there was no Artemis without Apollo, no matter what people tried to say). Artemis sat and stared and wondered how long her mortal body could bear the name of a god and the weight of the world (split even as it was over all the heroes of the world)?

Maybe all new heroes should be called Atlas, no choice, no individuality. Heroes gave up their individuality anyway, they became a mask (no one saw a mask twist in agony after all, no tears through silicone), what was becoming one many armed creature? They should all be Atlas so the wor… people they protected understood the sacrifice (because they were no criminals paying for their crimes, they chose this life, a kind of crucifixion to pay for the crimes of others)

She knew she was being silly. She wouldn't make it long enough to have more than one protégé, most heroes didn't. Artemis looked at her shaking hands (when was the last time she's really slept? Or eaten? Did she even exist anymore?) maybe she wouldn't last that long either. (For a second she could hear sobbing in the boys bathroom and coughing from the girls. There was no escape, this mountain was crushing them). All that mattered was lasting long enough to train someone to take her place, wasn't it? She just had to hold up her bit of the world long enough for someone else to gain enough strength to relieve her of the burden (she refused to think how much heavier it would get before then).

A red headed blur appeared in the corner of her eye. "Artemis," his voice was gentle (he was a good actor, you almost couldn't hear the sandpaper roughness that came from screaming instead of sleeping), "you've been down here for a long time sweetheart. Come on upstairs, have some dinner with us. Dick made something and it smells delicious." His hand was soft and held hers gently. He pulled her from her thoughts of uncaring gods and the crushing weight of the penitence of Atlas.

(She knew it was originally a punishment, but at some point Atlas had to do it so no one else had to, didn't he?)


	4. Chapter 4

She started, siting up in a flash of panic, gasping to fill lungs that felt as if she'd been underwater for ages. Lips caught her own. Wally's open mouth swallowing her scream (so she wouldn't wake the others, not to comfort her. He'd tried smothering her screams with a hand before, it hadn't worked). Her blue eyes were frantic, she raised a hand to strike, then her panicked mind caught up. Her body relaxed marginally, she kissed back in thanks. She hated to wake the rest of the team, they slept little enough as was (and the taste of his mouth blotted the bitterness from hers).

Green eyes met hers. His red hair was messy, one hand was buried in her own hair, the other was still wrapped around her waist from sleep. The bare skin of his chest sparked where it touched hers. The mission, a hostage negotiation, had gone badly. His teeth caught her bottom lip.

They had done everything right (she would repeat it until they all believed it). She dug ragged nails into his back, mouth desperate on his.

The hostage had been killed (black hair, brown eyes, red shirt, blue jeans, only had one earing, silver locket). Robin and M'gann had been messes (Artemis had gone cold, _sloppy _was the only thing on her mind). Wally's mouth made a slow progression down her jaw. She let him, she found comfort in him as he did in her.

Sometime after she had managed to calm down (and he had reassured himself she was alright). She lay drifting into sleep, counting the breaths of those around her (peaceful for once, two of Wally's for every one of the others). She used Wally's chest as a pillow, his arms wrapped securely around her, the pads of his fingers lay against bare skin, (a soothing physical reminder that they were still gloriously alive), the steady staccato of his heart beat finally lulled her back to sleep.


End file.
